


A Lady Guest

by placentalmammal



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/F, One Night Stands, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:27:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/placentalmammal/pseuds/placentalmammal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long week, Glory runs into a beautiful, older woman at the Third Rail. Sparks fly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Lady Guest

Saturday night, and the Third Rail is jumping. Weekday, weekend, don't make much difference in Goodneighbor, but the dismal little bar is twice as crowded as it usually is. Glory isn't usually one for crowds, but tonight, she needs the noise and energy. It's been an utter asshole of a week; a filthy, shit-caked asshole of a week. They had _two_ packages turn up unexpectedly. Either Patriot's getting sloppy or else they are. It fell to Deacon, Glory, and Tommy to get the escapees into Goodneighbor, to Amari's. Deacon and Tommy are doing their dipshit flirty thing, where they snark at each other and pretend they're not fucking.

It's a worthless ruse. Glory knows. _Everybody_ knows. Deacon and Tommy snuck off separately so they could meet up an' play grabass, and tomorrow morning, they're going to stagger in individually and act like it didn't happen. They _always_ do this, and they _always_ come back reeking like sex and cologne.

Glory sighs and orders another gin and tonic. These days it seems like _everybody's_ getting laid 'cept her. Another sigh, and she casts her gaze around the bar, waiting for a solution to present itself.

One does, in the form of a redheaded woman at the far end of the bar. She's a little older, weathered, fine lines around her eyes and mouth. She's a caravanner, wearing shit-kicker boots and worn flannel. Braless underneath, pretty flower necklace hanging down between her pert little tits. She's wearing a rattan cowboy hat, and she's pretty enough that Glory's willing to forgive her the pretension.

Glory catches her eye and winks. The woman smiles back, raises an eyebrow, and gestures to the bartender. _Buy me a drink, sweetheart,_ then _we'll talk_.

Easier said then done in a bar as crowded as the Rail, but after a few minutes of increasingly less-polite gestures, she catches Whitechapel Charlie's attention.

"Whiskey, neat," she says, shouting over the din of the milling crowd, "for the redhead over there." She drops her caps on the counter and points. Charlie's eyes swivel on their stalks, lenses clicking as they focus in on the woman in the cowboy hat. One of his servos whirs in something like a disdainful sniff, and Glory growls. "I didn't ask for commentary," she snaps. "You have my money, now give the nice lady her drink."

"Your caps, your funeral," he says, but he does as she asks and takes a glass over to the redheaded woman. Grinning, she takes it from him, then catches Glory's eye and lifts the glass in salute. Glory returns her grin, and leans forward, propping her chin on her fist. The woman drinks the whiskey like water, then summons Glory with a wink and a crooked finger.

Her name is Cass, and Glory can't place her accent. She's obviously not from Boston or the surrounding areas, but she won't say where. "Far away," she says amiably. " _Real_ far away."

Glory nods. "Not me. I'm a Boston girl, born and raised."

"Wouldn't have guessed it," she says, and her eyes flick from Glory's tits to her lips and back. She grins like she likes what she sees, takes another swallow of whiskey. "You don't have the accent."

"We don't _all_ sound like that," says Glory. "I mean, obviously."

"Whatever." Cass sits back in her seat. "So what is there to do around here, anyway? Besides freezing your tits off, I mean."

"It's September," says Glory, laughing. "You ain't seen _nothing_ yet. You think this is bad, you oughta stick around 'til December."

"I don't intend to." Cass sets her glass on the bar. "I been in this shithole three days, there's nothing worth stayin' for."

"Just this shithole?" asks Glory. "'Cause hell, no wonder. Third Rail's a goddamn dump. You should try Bunker Hill."

"Already did, and they run me off," she says. "I'm a caravanner, and I'm lookin' to expand my operations out this way. That fat old prick, Stockton, or whatever? He said I didn't have anythin' worth trading for."

Glory waves her hand dismissively. "Old Stockton's a real asshole," she says. "I know the guy. You want in on Bunker Hill's operations, you gotta win over the smaller trade ops, make yourself useful enough that he can't help but take you on."

"I don't have that sort of time," says Cass. "Like I said, I ain't planning to stick around that much longer. Nothin' here worth it."

This is Glory's cue. She leans forward in her seat, puts her hand on the other woman's knee. "I can think of something," she purrs, kneading Cass' flesh.

"Oh?" Cass grins, leaning back and spreading her legs a little, an open invitation if Glory's ever seen one. "And what would that be?"

"Why don't you come on up to my room and I'll show you?"

Cass' grin widens.

Glory, Deacon, and Tom have a room in the Rex, a dingy little suite with two double beds. The view ain't much and the minifridge is empty, but the door locks. Glory takes a lot of pleasure in sliding the deadbolt and chain into place and setting the 'Do Not Disturb' sign out. Tommy and Deacon are still out there somewhere, jerking each other off in an alleyway or whatever.

And Glory has the only key.

"You're a real piece of work," says Cass, grinning. She flopped down on the bed as soon as they crossed the threshold, and now she's watching Glory, lit cigarette dangling from her fingertips.

"If you met my partners, you'd understand." Glory drops down onto the bed next to her and steals the cigarette. "Real fucking assholes, both of them."

"I believe you." Glory props her chin up on her forearms and watches Glory smoke. "A couple years back, I was running with this courier--"

Glory snorts. "All couriers are fucking nuts," she says, taking a long drag. "That's the first fucking rule of the Wastes. Anybody who spends all their time out there alone has _got_ to be a couple bricks shy of a load."

"Yeah, anyway, so this goddamn mailman ends up starting a fucking _war_ over a hydroelectric dam--"

There's a story there, but Glory doesn't want to hear it. "I get it," she says, "you're a fascinatin' person with an incredible life story. I'm _very_ impressed. Now, you wanna come over here and take my pants off, or are you going to make me do _all_ the work?"

Cass snatches the cigarette from Glory and stubs it out in the overflowing ashtray on the bedside table. Glory opens her mouth to protest, but then Cass is on her, lips and tongue and teeth and scratching fingernails. It's fierce, it's rough, it's _exactly_ what she's been craving after the week she's had. Grinning against the other woman's lips, she kisses back, matching her hunger and ferocity.

A hand moves up to cradle Glory's jaw, holding her still while Cass deepens the kiss, pushing her tongue further into Glory's mouth. Glory responds in kind, pushing up against the other woman, hooking one leg around her calf. Cass' knee slides in between Glory's thighs, grinding up against her cunt. Glory gasps and lets her head fall back onto the bed, baring her throat to Cass' hot, needy mouth.

She feels the scrape of the other woman's teeth and cries out, reaching up to grab handfuls of Cass' red hair. She hauls the other woman up to kiss her again, kiss her _properly_. Cass growls and jerks out of Glory's grasp, renewing her assault on her exposed neck. "I like hearing you moan," she murmurs. "I wanna make you scream."

"You can try, cowgirl" Glory pants, lifting her hips and grinding up against Cass, "but I ain't going to give you the satisfaction--"

She snorts inelegantly. "'S about giving _you_ the satisfaction," she says, and she sticks one hand down Glory's shirt, helping herself to a handful of her tits. She squeezes, catching a nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching and twisting as she licks along Glory's throat.

Cursing, Glory's hands fist in the other woman's shirt. "Is that all you got," she gasps, "just gonna squeeze my titties and jerk yourself off?"

"You got a _mouth_ on you," Cass purrs. "I like that." Another kiss, and she reaches for Glory's belt. "I'm gonna get _my_ mouth on you, see how you like _that_."

Glory laughs. "That's awful," she complains, shivering as the other woman works her belt free of its loops. "Fuck, how long you been saving that line? _Fuck!_ "

"Shut up," says Glory amiably, and then she jerks Glory's trousers down to expose her wet cunt. And it turns out that she eats pussy like she kisses -- fierce, no hesitation. She parts Glory's lips and buries her face between them, lapping at her wet slit. Groaning, Glory bucks and groans under Cass' hands and mouth, hands sliding over the sheets and blankets, scrabbling for purchase.

It's embarrassing, how quick she comes. Cass knows _exactly_ what she's doing. Two fingers inside and one outside, stimulating her clit from all angles while she licks along her labia. Glory cries out, climaxing against Cass' mouth with a wet rush, soaking the sheets with her juices. Cass moves like she's going to keep going, but Glory swats at her. "That's it," she says, gasping. "'m too sensitive. Starts to hurt."

"I was just gettin' started," Cass complains, but she relents, propping herself up on her elbows and rolling away. "Fuck."

"Hey, hey." Glory sits up, moving to follow Cass. She kisses her, shivering at the taste of her own arousal on the other woman's lips. "Let me get you off." She leans back against the headboard, spreads her legs wide. "C'mere. Take a seat."

Cass settles between Glory's legs, her back to Glory's chest. Glory kisses her neck, tasting the sweat of salt on her skin. There's a lingering taste of alcohol, an understated whiskey burn. Glory squeezes her tits, slides her hands down the plane of Cass' torso, cups her cunt through her trousers. Cass squirms, arching back against her, letting her head fall back onto Glory's shoulder. "Just like that," she murmurs, lips parted. "Just get your hands on my clit--"

Glory undoes her belt and zipper, reaches into her pants presses her hand flat against Cass' flushed mound. She's sopping wet, her arousal dribbling out between Glory's probing fingers.

"Fuck," she whines, pressing back into Glory. "You're pretty good with your hands, you know that?"

"Could stand to hear a little more," Glory mutters, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin behind Cass' ear. "Tell me how good it feels." Her fingers brush Cass' clit and she jolts and seizes in Glory's arms, jumping like she'd taken hold of a live wire. Glory chuckles and presses harder, fingers curling against the sensitive bud of flesh as Cass curses and spits.

"Fuck me!" she gasps, juices running down Glory's hand, "fuck me, that's so good!" Her pussy shivers and contracts around Glory's fingers, pulsing with wet, slick heat. Her breath catches in her throat, and she's close, so _close_.

Glory works her fingers in little circles, ignoring the dull ache building in her wrist. Cass clutches at her forearm, fingernails biting into the muscle as Glory worked at her, bringing her closer to orgasm. She peppers the other woman's throat and jaw with small, gentle kisses, whispering sweet nothings as Cass shudders and convulses under her experienced hands.

She finally comes with a groan and a sigh. Her whispered " _oh_ " is almost anticlimactic after all her cursing and carrying-on, but Glory finds herself endeared rather than annoyed. Her head lolls back on Glory's shoulder and they kiss properly, all lips and tongue.

"Thanks, beautiful," Cass murmurs. "That was real fucking nice."

"Nice enough to stick around?"

"Nah." Cass grins lazily and kisses her again, a close-mouthed peck on the cheek. "Another couple orgasms like that, and we can talk."

Glory chuckles and kisses her, languid and lazy in the afterglow. "That could be arranged," she murmurs. "I don't live in Goodneighbor, but I live real close by. If you--"

She's interrupted by a loud rattle, followed by a thud. "It's locked!" cries a male voice, thick with dismay. "Who the hell would lock us out?"

A series of rapid thumps, like a pair of small, sharp fists pounding on the door. "Glory, open up!" Deacon calls. "We know you're in there!"

She laughs, unable to hold it in any longer. "I'm entertaining a guest," she shouts. "A _lady_ guest!"

"Can't you read?" says Cass, cackling with glee. "Sign says 'do not disturb!'"

The door rattles in the frame. "Oh my god," says Tommy. "Come on Glory, open up!"

"Real fucking mature, Glory," Deacon yells. "I'd appeal to your better, kinder nature, 'cept I know you don't have one. Open the goddamn door!"

Glory and Cass dissolve into helpless giggles, slumped over onto one another. "Should we let them in?" Cass whispers.

"Nah," says Glory, grinning. "Let 'em sweat it out."


End file.
